


The Kingslayer's Spot

by WackyGoofball



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afternoon Delight Challenge, Banter, F/M, Love, Love Confessions, Romance, Texting, Tumblr Prompt, as always with those two, gone kind of wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 08:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13543383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/pseuds/WackyGoofball
Summary: Brienne gets an ominous text message from her friend Jaime, which only ever adds to her inner turmoil after their relationship has been under a strain after a certain birthday party.I suck at summaries.





	The Kingslayer's Spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isola_Caramella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isola_Caramella/gifts), [coolhandjennie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolhandjennie/gifts).



> Hello everyone, thanks for looking into this story. 
> 
> This was *supposed* to be a 500 word fic to make it fit the challenge, but... my mind didn't allow for it, so suddenly, it was 3000 words and I didn't know how to boil it back down to 500, so consider this the challenge six times accepted in one fic. 
> 
> I gift this to the wonderful mutuals who brought us this fabulous Tumblr challenge, Isola, and coolhandjennie, who was so kind to tag me to join the fun. I hope you are going to like it even though it turned out much longer than it was originally asked for. ☺
> 
> Much love! ♥♥♥

Brienne, sitting on her couch, still can’t seem to tear her blue eyes off of her cellphone, reading the message over and over again, trying to twist the letters and speech bubbles into another, less threatening shape.

Though without much success.

Jaime, for some _damned_ reason, always has his dear fun sending her a bunch of emojis and the like with every message, whereas Brienne would prefer clear instructions instead of yellow faces in the texts she receives, even more so since Jaime began using “chat lingo” with almost childish delight whenever he discovers a new acronym she doesn’t know or a symbol combination alluding to something naughty.

Jaime still enjoys the butt emoticon and the phallic emoticon combinations most, and makes sure to include them as often as possible, even more so when it’s the least appropriate.

However, none of that wavered her nearly as much as this text did and still does.

When Brienne first read the message, she plainly didn’t understand what Jaime meant by “afternoon delight,” but the blonde woman knows how to help herself, having been forced into looking up “chat lingo” in felt eternities by now. And so, a quick search online revealed the actual meaning of those two words which, separately, don’t amount to much of anything, but taken together, manage to shake her world by the pillars.

Things have been awkward between the two ever since that one birthday party gone way out of hand, after Brienne underestimated what arbor would do to her – and Jaime, apparently. And she fears that the message actually relates back to that.

Sansa’s birthday party was a mess as the two kept stumbling around, laughing loudly, and Brienne even let herself be dared to dance with Jaime once, something she didn’t do ever since a school dance resulted in her humiliation at the hands of the boys who all asked her for a dance to dare each other to swing the hips with “Brienne the Beauty” also known as “the Beast.” The alcohol had loosened up way too many of her self-constraints, Brienne realized far too late, and so, the inevitable happened outside the house as Jaime and she had stumbled into the garden to get some fresh air. Brienne only remembers flashes, but the ones she can recall are ever the more vivid. How suddenly all distance dissolved between them as they laughed at something that likely wasn’t even funny, leaned in close, then closer…

And then his lips were on his or his lips were on hers, Brienne cannot tell for certain anymore. What she does know is that the kiss was a messy one, both fumbling with each other’s clothes as they tried to stay upright, the music was still blaring inside, thankfully obscuring their presence there alongside the darkness, and the birthday girl squealed at every present she was unpacking by the time, from which the two wanted to escape, only to run into each other’s arms and against each other’s lips.

Thankfully, they do not work at the same office, or else Brienne may have had to consider to quit her job out of sheer embarrassment over the incident.

Ever since that night, the two have barely spoken and even texting was reduced to a bare minimum, until today when Jaime suggested “afternoon delight.”

 _So, is this Jaime’s odd way of making a next step_ , Brienne can’t help but wander for a moment. _Did he really mean for that kiss and is that why he writes these things, believing it funny to suggest afternoon delight?_

Jaime _has_ a tendency for those kinds of things, after all, though Brienne still dares to think that it was merely a typo.

“Knock, knock!”

“There is a doorbell!”

“Remind me to never try knock-knock-jokes with you! Anyway, I have just one hand to spare, woman and my mouth works just fine!”

Brienne sighs as she gets up to open for the almost painfully handsome man whose looks are not in the least blemished with the lack of one hand that he lost during an accident some years ago.

She takes a good look at Jaime, dressed in his fine business suit, a white plastic bag dangling from his fingers, much to Brienne’s relief, because she can’t imagine that he would bring props in a plastic bag for that matter.

_Or would he?_

“Something wrong?”

“Did you check your own texts?” she asks, already holding her device in front of his eyes. Jaime frowns as he looks at the phone. “A good day to you, too, wench.”

“Look what you wrote and tell me that this was a typo, right now.”

That he breaks out laughing is both a relief to Brienne, while at the same time flipping her stomach sideways for some reason.

“Not necessarily a _typo_ , but autocorrect having fun at my expenses. Now I know why you look so spooked, wench,” Jaime chuckles as he simply makes his way inside her apartment, as though it was a natural thing, when it really hasn’t been ever since that godforsaken birthday party.

“Care to enlighten me?” she demands as she closes the door.

“I wanted to write _afternoon deli_ , but apparently, my phone is horny and suggested _afternoon delight_ instead,” he answers.

“And you didn’t see that? You even typed in another message, Jaime!”

“I barely looked at the phone. I was in line to get the delis. The last part I barely managed to type in before placing my order,” he replies.

“Well, at least that is cleared up now,” Brienne sighs, letting out a shaky breath as she sits back down on the couch, lacing her fingers through her short-cropped hair.

“Do I hear a bit of _disappointment_ there, wench?” Jaime snickers as he lets the bag with no _delight_ but _delis_ plop down on the coffee table before resuming his seat right next to her, or as he calls it, “the Kingslayer’s Spot” whenever he lounges there when they watch any movie or documentary related to sword fighting that they can get their hands on.

At least that is what they used to do before Sansa had to invite them to her birthday party with way too much and way too strong arbor.

“I suppose the phallic nature of the delis is not going to be of much help in that regard,” Jaime goes on.

“Could you quit that right now?” Brienne grounds out.

“That is genuinely funny, though,” Jaime argues.

“Not for me.”

“So it’s disappointment after all?” he asks with a grin.

“No, it’s _not_.”

“Oh, then it _definitely_ is,” he laughs.

“Jaime, stop that now,” she shouts. “If you only came here to make fun of me, then you can just as well take your _phallic_ baked goods and go.”

“I love it how you say _phallic_ in that shy sort of way,” Jaime says with a dirty grin. “That word is not nearly as naughty as you make it sound, you know? But I quite like that.”

“Jaime,” she warns him, fed up with his attitude. Brienne, until the “afternoon delight” message, dared to hope that he would make a first step to resolve that issue so that they could go back to normal, but that hope died yet again now that he is back to his joking self, finding incredibly funny what is a sincere matter to her.

Though maybe that is actually the issue here: Perhaps that is what that kiss was to him, if he even remembers, that it was a funny coincidence, something to laugh about over beers and sword fight documentaries.

But then again, isn’t that what Brienne should be hoping for? Then why does her stomach turn over yet again? Or is it just the smell of the delis?

“Why did you text me?” she asks, now in a more serious tone of voice. “Was it really just for some delis or what?”

“I thought they would be a nice icebreaker, though apparently, the melted the ice in about three seconds after they got turned into afternoon delight,” he answers.

“Icebreaker,” she repeats.                 

“Well, it’s no secret that you have kept your _professional distance_ ever since Sansa’s birthday party,” Jaime points out to her.

“So did you, let’s not pretend,” Brienne scoffs, hugging her flat chest.

“ _Fine_ , let’s call it a truce on that matter,” he exhales, holding up his left hand. “We both kept our distance.”

“Fine,” she agrees.

“So I thought it might be good to have some kind of _pretense_ to come by. I mean, how often did I have lunch here instead of the office, right?” Jaime goes on.

“Well, the food there is almost not edible,” Brienne answers, remembering that one time he invited her over to have a taste of that stuff. To this day, she cannot fathom how it’s possible make sweet biscuits taste bitter.  

“There was another case of food poisoning just a week ago,” Jaime says, nodding his head.

“Oh really?” Brienne asks, for a moment surprising herself how easily they fall back into their usual routines of talking about their daily businesses. And that even though there seem far more important, far more world-changing things to discuss than bad canteen food.

“That red-bearded nutjob that the brooding Stark boy sent down here is up to some not so happy shitting, I heard,” Jaime snickers.

It’s no secret to Brienne that Jaime does not like Tormund Giantsbane. He isn’t fond of Jon Snow already, but ever since that man was brought into Lannister Corp., Jaime has been after the man. Brienne herself can’t say much about him. She only ever saw him in passing when visiting Jaime at work, couldn’t even recall his name, but that changed when he started suckling meat while sitting at the table in front of her, in Jaime’s back, the intentions of that gesture more than clear. Once Jaime caught her irritation, he turned around and gave the red-haired man a glare that had him stand up and leave, which both irritated and impressed Brienne, though Jaime only ever sat down quietly and never spoke of that again.

“And yet again, we are getting off-topic,” she sighs. Because they tend to do that when they are supposed to have serious conversation.

That seems to be part of the problem, apparently, because not all can be resolved through emojis or funny text messages.

“A pretense for the pretense… _pretenception_ ,” Jaime says.

“Don’t be proud of that word creation, alright?” Brienne huffs, but then adds more feebly, “that still doesn’t answer the question at hand, though.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees.

“… So?” she asks cautiously.

“I think I made a big mistake during that birthday party,” Jaime begins, chewing on his lower lip.

“Well, we both had wine, it’s not like you are solely responsible for…,” Brienne argues, which has Jaime frown at her incredulously. “What?”

“What?” she mimics.

“I meant to say that it was a big mistake that I let you excuse yourself right after that and make a dive into the next best taxi you could find to get the hell out of there,” Jaime goes on to explain. “Though, to your credit, I never saw someone that tall jump into a car that gracefully, all the way to the other side. That was impressive.”

“Well, thanks I guess… but anyway, maybe I should have stayed to resolve that issue at once, but that is not really your fault, but mine. It was just that I was so shocked at myself for… for letting myself go like that that I just made a run for it, which, I know, seems unlike someone who normally never runs away from trouble, but…,” Brienne rambles, trying to find the words she would otherwise rather write down beforehand in order not to forget and in order not to stammer, but here she is, trying to have a conversation that still turns her stomach into a knot, not knowing what to make of any of this other than believing it to be yet another messy situation as the one outside the house during that damned party.

“I will stop you right there, alright?” Jaime intervenes, then. “Because what I was trying to say is that I regret that I just let you go like that, so that now you have bred out all kinds of scenarios inside your head with regards to my reaction or reasoning, or else, I am sure, I would have sat on my spot on your couch in a few days by now to talk about this. Almost in the way adults do.”

“But _just_ almost,” Brienne huffs, managing a feeble sort of smile.

“I am a child at heart. That is my charm and you know it,” Jaime snorts, but then gathers himself again, “But what I actually meant to say is that I regret letting you go that night because…”

“Because?” Brienne asks.

Because that is the one question she needs an answer to more desperately than she thought until the serious part of the conversation began and the delis and delights somewhat faded into the background.

“ _Because_ then the message that I just sent you by accident may well have turned out as an honest request by now, which you would have answered to willingly accordingly…,” Jaime says, not looking at her.

Brienne can do nothing much but stare.

_Does he mean…?_

“What are you…?” Brienne wants to ask, but that is when she has Jaime’s lips pressing against her own and her entire world momentarily stopping, her mind disconnecting, and her body reacting to his just the way it did during the party, though this time she is not drunk, and yet, she wants that kiss so much that it takes her breath away the way Jaime does as he keeps drawing her closer to him.

“I don’t know what I am exactly, other than that I am fairly certain that I have fallen in love with this tall, stubborn woman who drives me insane half the time that I only ever found the courage at the bottom of a plastic cup filled with tart, lukewarm arbor,” Jaime says once he pulls away, revealing a kind of uncertainty that Brienne thought only she had about the matter.

Jaime is always so sure about his actions. He is the kind of man to never regret his choices, even if he may find them regrettable, he rather works towards making changes in the present rather than lingering in the past and obsessing about the mistakes he made.

And yet, here is a man whose eyes are searching hers, who is also not drunk, and whose breath is still as hitched as hers.

“You… are in love with me?” Brienne asks, eyes wide, heart pounding.

“Afraid so,” Jaime says, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. “I mean, maybe that was not the smartest move and I may have just rushed things yet again, but…”

This time, it is Jaime who is in shock as Brienne pulls him back to her lips, holding on to the white collar of his shirt, not thinking about whether that is going to make a mess of his outfit.

And Brienne must realize that the knot in her stomach almost instantly dissolved once she felt Jaime’s lips brush against hers, making space for a strange, new and yet comfortable warmth to spread throughout her.

“We should have had that conversation earlier _most definitely_ ,” Jaime mutters against her lips as they pull away slightly, his grip on her nevertheless tightening. “What a waste of precious afternoon delights.”

“Not so fast,” Brienne says as she withdraws a little more. “We are nowhere near _that_. I looked it up on the internet.”

“Of course you did,” Jaime huffs. “But I mean… we potentially _could_. Do you know how much it took me to admit that emotional message? You know I am not particularly good at talking about my feelings, a family trait, as you are aware. Give me some credit, woman.”

“I think I am giving you much more credit than you probably deserve,” Brienne points out to him.

“You will have something different to say about that once you have a first taste of the _afternoon delight_ I can give you. Or evening delight or night delight, if you preferred. I heard morning delight is also not the almost bad…,” Jaime ponders, his voice trailing off, his grin growing darker by the minute.

“I think for now we are going to stick to the afternoon delight of _afternoon deli_ ,” Brienne huffs, leaning over to grab the plastic bag with sandwiches.

“Well, better than nothing, I suppose,” Jaime chuckles as she hands him one wrapped deli. “Though I may warn you, now that I know that there is a chance for me to get some afternoon delight after all, I will work very _hard_ to get us to that delight.”

“Eat your deli, Kingslayer.”

“Hm, maybe that’s not the only thing I am going to eat tonight.”

“You have to be back at work.”

“I can call in sick. Food poisoning is a valid excuse now.”

“You will not.”

“But you would benefit from it greatly, trust me. I am good at…”

“Not interested.”

“Of course you. You are in love with me!”

“And Gods know that I already regret that.”

“Ever the more a reason for me to convince you of the opposite.”

“The deli is convincing enough for me right now.”

“But the delight, wench, the pure delight of…”

“No.”

“C’mon!”

“No.”

“Wench!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s what I call my girlfriend!”

“Oh, hells no!”

“It’s cute!”

“It’s not!”

“I think I just got mustard on my shirt, care to lick it off?”

“I am throwing you out of my apartment, I swear to the Seven above.”

“You won’t get rid of me ever again, wench. The Kingslayer has his spot not just on your couch, but also in your heart.”

“Ugh.”


End file.
